The road was narrow, the earth still slick from the morning rain. Their boots sank slightly with each step, the sound soft and rhythmic beneath the hush of the gray afternoon. The air was heavy — a quiet that felt stretched too thin, as if the world itself waited for something to happen.
Vincent and Anisda led the way, the thief with his usual swagger and the vampire with his slow, deliberate stride. Behind them walked Thalia and William, their cloaks brushing softly against the tall grass that framed the path.
It had been hours since anyone spoke. The river followed them faithfully to their right, its dark waters murmuring, the current carrying the reflection of the dull sky above.
The mist had thickened again. The light through it was pale and cold, as if the sun had given up trying to reach them.
Vincent broke the silence first. "We've been walking for hours. How much longer till we reach Emberlyn?"
Anisda didn't turn his head. "Before moonrise, if we keep the pace."
Vincent sighed. "And if my legs stop obeying me before then?"
Anisda's reply was calm. "Then I'll carry you."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "You'd carry me?"
Anisda glanced sidelong at him. "No. But the wolves might."
Vincent chuckled softly. "You've got a sense of humor buried somewhere under all that brooding. I'll dig it out before this journey ends."
Anisda gave no answer. His eyes stayed ahead, unblinking, the mist curling faintly around his shoulders like a living thing.
Behind them, Thalia and William walked a little slower, lost in the gray stillness.
William broke the silence first. "Thalia," he said quietly, "these powers you spoke of… when did they begin?"
She thought for a moment before answering. "The night Yainna burned," she said softly. "The moment my father fell."
William's brow furrowed. "What did it feel like?"
Thalia's gaze turned to the river, her voice distant. "Like the world cracked open inside me. Like the air caught fire in my veins." She exhaled, a small, trembling sigh. "Do you remember what we once talked about? The crows and ravens in the castle gardens?"
He smiled faintly, despite the weight of their talk. "I do. You said they were intelligent creatures — watchers, not wanderers."
She nodded slowly. "That wasn't just idle curiosity. The raven I spoke of… the one that always lingered on my windowsill… was him."
She nodded forward toward Anisda.
William blinked, unsure he'd heard right. "You mean—?"
"Yes," she said. "He was the raven. Watching over me."
William's mouth opened slightly, then shut. He was silent for a while, then spoke with a touch of disbelief that softened into awe. "I don't know whether that's mad or miraculous."
"Both, perhaps," she said gently. "But I know it's true."
He smiled faintly. "Then I believe you."
They walked in quiet again, the air filled only with the soft sound of their boots and the whisper of the river. After a while, Thalia spoke again, her voice a little steadier. "My great-grandfather once crossed into the Welch Lands."
William looked at her curiously. "I didn't know anyone had."
"No one was meant to. He returned, but what he saw there… it changed him. His writings were hidden away, locked in the vaults beneath Castle Drale. The elders feared his words would turn men mad."
"What did he write?" William asked.
She hesitated, her eyes distant. "He said it was a world beside ours but older — not made by the gods, but by something before them. He said the air itself whispered, and that light had memory."
William frowned. "No wonder they buried his writings."
Thalia smiled faintly, then the light in her eyes dimmed. "He wrote one last thing before he died. He said the land speaks to those who carry its blood — and that only one line of our family would ever be able to hear it."
William looked at her in silence. "You think that line is you."
"I don't know," she admitted. "But when the power came that night, when Yainna fell, I felt something calling from beyond the frost."
They walked quietly for a time, the wind brushing through the reeds. Then William said, almost absently, "You know, there was once a time when people in Yainna said women who laid with devils bore children with strange gifts."
Thalia glanced at him sharply. "I've heard the old tales."
He nodded. "They said such women possessed unholy abilities — and that their daughters were marked."
She tilted her head. "Marked?"
"By color," he said. "Their hair. They called it the stain of hell — red as fire, red as sin."
She stopped walking, her steps faltering. "Do you believe that?"
William turned back, meeting her eyes. "I don't know what I believe anymore. My father is dead. My kingdom is gone. The gods have turned their faces. And now I follow a man who turns into a raven across roads that lead to places no man has returned from." His voice grew uneven, his breathing heavy. "Belief feels like a luxury I can't afford."
She looked at him — truly looked. His eyes were wild with grief, the steadiness she'd always known in him slipping away. Instead of answering sharply, as she might have before, she reached out and took his arm.
"William," she said softly. "I don't need you to believe in what I am. I only need you to believe that we can still fight for what's left."
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking. Her voice — gentle, measured — steadied him more than he'd ever admit. "You've changed," he said quietly.
"So have you."
Ahead, Vincent and Anisda walked side by side. Anisda's pace had slowed, his eyes half-lidded as if listening to something far away. The sky had darkened further; the light was thin and cold.
In his mind, he turned over silent thoughts — the way the mist clung too heavily, the absence of birdcalls, the quiet pulse of unnatural energy that hummed through the air.
Someone is tampering with the weather, he thought. And if they are… then they know where I am.
He glanced up at the clouds — the same gray that had followed them all day, unbroken, watching. His jaw tightened.
Vincent noticed the look and tilted his head. "You look like a man who's about to start a sermon. Something wrong?"
Anisda's voice was low. "The sky has not changed once since we left the bridge. It should have cleared by now."
Vincent shrugged. "Maybe the gods are in a bad mood."
Anisda didn't smile. "Perhaps it isn't the gods."
Vincent gave him a side glance. "You sound like my grandmother when she forgot her medicine."
Anisda ignored the remark, his thoughts already elsewhere.
After a few minutes, Vincent spoke again, more lightly. "So, what's it like in the Welch Lands? Brutal, I bet. Frozen graves and monsters under every tree."
Anisda's reply came quiet, deliberate. "I live in a castle that breathes."
Vincent blinked. "I'm sorry — did you just say it breathes?"
Anisda finally looked at him, his eyes faintly amused. "Yes."
Vincent laughed nervously. "You really know how to sell a vacation spot, don't you?"
No one answered him. The quiet returned — and the forest began to dim. The gray was folding into blue, the light sinking beneath the horizon.
Anisda finally turned to the others behind them. "We should walk through the night. I do not trust the weather of the morrow."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Or," he said, "we could make camp, start a small fire, find something to eat that isn't fear and damp air."
Thalia smiled faintly. "He's right. We could use a meal."
William nodded. "And rest."
Anisda sighed quietly through his nose. "Very well. I will find food."
Vincent smirked. "Generous. And how will you catch up?"
Anisda gave him a slow look — one that was neither amused nor threatening, just coldly patient. "Do not concern yourself."
Thalia, sensing the tension, smiled softly. "We don't eat cats, if that's what you're hunting. Deer, rabbits, even squirrels will do."
"Deer it is then," Anisda said simply.
He stepped past her, the hem of his cloak brushing the ground. William and Vincent both watched as he moved ahead into the mist — each step measured, deliberate.
Then, without warning, he broke into a run.
In a blink, his cloak lifted — caught not by wind but by something alive within it. It unfurled, rising like a dark wave. The air rippled around him. His body seemed to shudder, bones shifting beneath skin. There was a sound — faint, sharp, like branches snapping in rapid succession. His arms stretched, his form narrowing. His cloak folded over him and then burst outward as wings.
And then he was gone — a raven, black and graceful, soaring into the twilight sky.
William and Vincent froze, eyes wide.
Vincent was the first to find his voice. "Did—did he just—?"
William blinked. "He did."
Vincent looked at Thalia, incredulous. "You see that too, right? I'm not hallucinating?"
Thalia's lips parted, her eyes shining with wonder. "He's magnificent," she whispered.
Vincent threw his hands in the air. "Magnificent? The man just exploded into a bird! You call that magnificent?"
William let out a stunned laugh. "I suppose that explains the raven at your window."
Thalia smiled, eyes still fixed on the sky. The raven was circling high above, black against the fading gray. "He's always been watching."
Vincent shook his head, muttering. "I swear, next thing you'll tell me he's the weather too."
"Possibly," William said with a faint grin.
"Don't joke," Vincent grumbled. "I'll start believing it."
As the raven disappeared into the growing dusk, the three of them stood watching until he was just a dot against the sky. The forest around them was quiet, save for the whisper of the river and the distant flutter of wings.
Thalia drew her cloak closer and glanced at William. "You see? The world's changing, William. Everything we thought was myth breathes again."
He nodded slowly, still staring at the sky. "Then gods help us all."
Vincent sighed. "And I thought the worst thing tonight would be cold soup."
They shared a small laugh, the sound soft but real, the first warmth since the fires of Yainna.
Night came gently, wrapping the land in its quiet shroud. And above them, unseen through the clouds, a raven flew north — swift and silent — searching for blood beneath the moon.